


Feel the Love Tonight

by JoMouse



Series: Sterek Bingo 2019 [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Comfort Food, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fire, Food, Hopeful Ending, Librarian Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Music, Musical References, Musician Derek Hale, Pianist Derek Hale, Recluse Derek Hale, Scarred Derek Hale, Sterek Bingo 2019, sbdisney, sbmusic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 04:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19041316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMouse/pseuds/JoMouse
Summary: Stiles moves to the small town of Beacon Hills after college. He rents half of a Duplex with just one warning: Stay away from the other tenant.He doesn't.Written for the themes music and Disney forSterek Bingo 2019.





	Feel the Love Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and salutations!!! *yawns loudly*
> 
> Well, it's the last day of Sterek Bingo and I stayed up uber late to finish some fics and am actually currently working on one that will hopefully get me that Bingo. LOL.
> 
> Biggest of thanks to Jenn for always believing in me and cheering me on even when she's not feeling all that cheerful herself. I love you, my friend!
> 
> Also the greatest amounts of gratitude to [Marie](http://quietzap.tumblr.com) for super duper fast betaing! I can't even begin to express how much it means to me! Just, thank you.
> 
> This story definitely got away from me, but I like how it turned out - I hope you do, too!
> 
> xx-Joey
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't know 'em. Don't own 'em. Don't show 'em.
> 
> Also, the author does not grant permission for this or any works to be shared on GoodReads.

The door creaked as Stiles pushed it open and he made a note to let the landlord know that he needed to oil it. Reaching behind himself he grabbed one of his boxes to take inside, freezing when the curtains on the other half of the duplex moved. Waiting, he wondered if his neighbor would make an appearance. Several moments passed without another sign of life, so Stiles went inside with a shrug.

He’d been thrilled to find an affordable place to live in the small town a few hours from where he’d grown up. He’d just graduated from college with a dual degree in Library Sciences and Creative Writing and found a job in Beacon Hills as a librarian. He figured that he could use any downtime at work to continue researching and writing the book he’d begun as a freshman in college and hoped to send off to prospective publishers before the end of the year.

When he’d first met with the landlord for the duplex, he’d been a bit put off by the wide eyes and crazy hair of Bobby “Call me Coach” Finstock, but as he’d worked out the details of his lease agreement, he’d found a bit of a soft spot for the loud, most likely crazy, man. After he’d signed the agreement, Coach had gotten eerily serious.

“There’s something I need to warn you about. Stay away from the man who rents the other half of the duplex,” he’d warned. When Stiles had questioned him, he’d only repeated that he should stay away. 

After a week of staying in the duplex, he’d not seen nor heard anything beyond the curtain moving on that first day to signal he even had a neighbor, so he figured that he’d have no problem heeding Coach’s warning. It was late Saturday night and Stiles was roaming his home, trying to settle his mind down enough to sleep when he heard faint piano music.

Following the sound, he discovered it was coming through the wall of his living room. Pressing his ear to the wall, he listened to the flowing notes allowing them to fill him with an aching loneliness. When the music stopped, he heard a quiet thud that he recognized as a piano closing. Stiles fought back a grin; his neighbor not only existed, but he played the piano beautifully. Now that his curiosity about his neighbor was whetted, he made a vow to himself to discover more.

The next morning, his alarm went off far too early and he hit snooze one too many times so he ended up racing out the door, tucking his shirt in and trying not to choke on a pop tart in order to get to the library in time for his first day. He was thankful that Beacon Hills was small enough and his duplex centrally located so that he could walk to work and give his beloved Jeep a rest. He patted her hood as he ran by, a bit concerned by the rattle he heard when he did so, but not having time to check it out. He made a note to look under the hood when he got home.

His first day was hectic. His new boss, Lydia Martin, was a slave driver in a petite body. Her beauty was only rivaled by her amazing mind and Stiles found himself spending a majority of the day trying to stump her with trivia while they restocked shelves and she showed him the computer system. She even paid him a compliment as he headed out for the day making him smile like an idiot as he made his way home. 

Taking a longer route through the main part of town, he looked in the windows of the stores, stopping outside a coffee shop to peruse the menu, debating getting something to eat. His stomach made the decision for him by growling loudly when someone exited the door on a cloud of delicious aroma. Pushing through the door, he smiled as a blonde greeted him from behind the counter. “Hey,” he responded. “What do you recommend?”

She quirked an eyebrow and grinned, her bright red lips offsetting her teeth that looked sharp enough to bite and Stiles swallowed hard. “My phone number,” she purred and Stiles choked back a laugh.

“As flattered as I am…” He glanced down at her name tag quickly, flushing when she shifted her arms to push her cleavage up even more. “Erica. I’m new to town and not looking for-”

“Oh! Are you the one renting the duplex?” she asked, standing up straight and her expression changing from predatory to friendly.

“Yeah. Stiles,” he said, holding his hand out to shake as he looked over her head at the specials. “I’ll take the Turkey Tornado wrap and a black coffee.” He realized she was still staring at him and hadn’t moved to start on his order. “Uh...Please?”

“Have you seen him?” she asked, her voice low and eyes darting around the shop.

Stiles tried to keep back a groan, but the look on Erica’s face told him that he’d failed. One thing that had continuously happened throughout the day that he would rather forget was everyone asking if he’d met, or even seen, his mysterious neighbor yet. He’d avoided answering the questions by asking some of his own. Using that method, he’d learned that his neighbor’s name was Derek Hale, he’d grown up in Beacon Hills, was a bit of a golden child on the basketball team in high school until his entire family had been killed in a fire. 

The stories of his life after the fire began sounding more fantastical and legendary, stories used to frighten small children. At the end of it all, the only thing people seemed to know for sure about Derek’s current life was that he rarely, if ever, left the duplex and everyone claimed he hadn’t actually been seen since shortly after the fire.

“Have you?” he returned, surprised when she didn’t flinch.

“Yeah. A long time ago.” Her smile drooped slightly on the edges, her tone taking on a sad tinge. “He was one of my best friends in high school.” She turned away and started making Stiles’ order, thereby ending the conversation and cutting off any questions that he might have had.

Tucking his hand into his pockets and shuffling his feet, Stiles tried to come up with something to break the awkward silence, but she was shoving his order at him and taking his money before anything came to mind. He started to apologize but she cut him off. “Look, he’s had a bad hand dealt him. He was never the same after the fire. His friends...we tried to help, but he more or less shut everyone out. No one has actually seen him in almost ten years.” She shrugged and offered a sad smile. “Honestly, I just really miss him. I guess I hoped that maybe if you’d seen him, you could let me know he was doing alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles told her, surprised that he really meant it. “Haven’t seen him.” He took a few steps and turned back to her. “He plays piano...a lot,” he offered and her smile turned a little less sad before she nodded her head and shifted her attention to the door when someone else walked in. 

“See you, Stiles. Don’t be a stranger,” she called as he walked out the door, waving a hand over his shoulder.

He sipped at his coffee as he made his way back to the duplex. The sun started going down, painting the sky orange. He thought about eating his dinner on the back porch watching the sunset; that would make for a satisfying evening. He reached his front door, setting his coffee carefully on the railing as he reached into his pocket, freezing when he didn’t feel his keys. His eyes fell shut and he huffed out a sigh and reached for the door, hoping he’d forgotten to lock it; would be the firs time in his life despite frequent reminders/threats from his father regarding safety. The knob didn’t turn. He dropped down onto the steps, his head in his hands for a minute before he pulled his phone out, ready to call Coach to see if he had an extra key or the number of a speedy locksmith.

He’d just unlocked his phone when he heard a door open. He whipped his head around in time to see a hand with several scars running up the back reach out and drop his keys to the porch. Looking up, he caught the glow of a green eye in the fading sunlight before the door slammed shut. 

Jumping to his feet, Stiles grabbed his keys and raised his hand to knock on Derek’s door, halting at the last moment and calling out, “Thanks, man,” instead. He waited for a response, but all he heard was the sound of mellow piano music starting up, so he let himself into his half of the house. He decided against his earlier plan and instead took a seat leaning back on the wall he shared with Derek, eating his sandwich and drinking his coffee while he listened to Derek play.

The next afternoon, Stiles leaned his chin on his hand, elbow resting on the counter at the library watching the kids enjoy story hour. They had a special guest reading that day, Beacon Hills’ illustrious sheriff, an older man with a warm smile and a loud voice. Watching the man made him miss his father; he made a mental note to call him later that night and try to make plans to get together soon. As storytime finished up, he knew it was only a matter of minutes before he’d be inundated with small bodies wanting to check out books. He straightened up, yawning and stretching his arms above his head until his back popped. He eyed the clock, calculating how much time he had until he had to leave. Rolling his shoulders, his entire body cried for him to crawl into bed and skip the rest of his day.

He’d fallen asleep sitting up against the wall the previous night, the seemingly endless concert Derek gave lulling him in a way nothing normally did. His eyes had drifted shut before he could even completely formulate a plan for getting himself to bed. He’d awoken when he heard the piano being closed. He’d pushed himself to his feet, his body aching as he’d looked at the clock, shocked to discover it was just past one in the morning. He’d stumbled up the stairs, falling into bed fully dressed. 

As exhausted as he’d been, he’d spent the next hour staring at the ceiling before giving up on sleep. He’d climbed out of bed, changing into sweats and a tee shirt with the word “Stud” above a comic drawing of a muffin on the front. It’d been a staple of his wardrobe in high school, but had now been relegated to sleepwear due to large holes in the underarms. He made his way to the kitchen, straining his ears to hear if there was any noise coming from Derek’s half. 

He’d started his coffee maker, loading it with the highest octane blend available before he’d decided that organizing the kitchen cabinets was a great idea. After he’d emptied the cupboards, he’d stared at the array of items covering the counters and after checking the refrigerator decided to make blueberry muffins, eating two straight out of the oven and burning his hands and mouth.

As he’d finished cleaning up and loading the dishwasher, he’d finally heard movement from next door. Looking at the dozens of muffins covering his table, he’d made a decision. Grabbing a piece of paper, he’d scrawled out a note along with a list of the ingredients. Then he’d packaged four of the muffins in a small basket he’d acquired at some point, probably a gift from his best friend’s mom who was always sending him small care packages. 

Moving quietly, he’d exited his house through the kitchen door into the backyard. He’d knocked on Derek’s door and waited. The curtain in the window next to the door shifted slightly and Stiles could hear shuffling, a shadow moving in the space beneath the door, but still, it remained closed. Nodding to himself, unsurprised by Derek’s behavior, Stiles set the basket on the porch next to the door. 

“These are for you, dude,” Stiles had called through the door. “Hope you like blueberry muffins.” He’d tapped the door with his fingertips before heading back into his house, smiling as he’d heard the door open behind him and fighting the urge to turn around and look.

After leaving the muffins, he’d settled into a kitchen chair to read over emails and had ended up texting with his father while he drank his coffee and ate a muffin. Piano music began to filer faintly from the living room and Stiles had wandered into the living room, finishing his breakfast leant up against the wall. The song had been vaguely familiar and when he’d finally identified it as the Kanine Crunchies jingle from  _ 101 Dalmatians _ , he’d burst into laughter. 

As he’d walked to work, he’d caught himself singing the jingle and laughed again. Despite the complete lack of sleep, he’d felt slightly more awake by the time he’d arrived at work. Knowing they had storytime that day, he’d grabbed a copy of Disney’s  _ 101 Dalmatians _ off the shelf for the sheriff to read to the kids and the man had been grateful for the suggestion.

Once storytime was over, the rest of the afternoon flew by and Stiles returned home feeling a bit more accomplished because Lydia had actually smiled at him when he’d gifted her some of the muffins. He took the longer route home, still trying to acquaint himself with the town, greeting people and trying to avoid answering questions about Derek, but wound up assuring everyone that asked that his neighbor seemed to be doing well, despite not having met him face to face. 

After the third little old lady had asked him to pass a message to Derek, he ducked into the coffee shop, but Erica wasn’t working so he kept his order simple for the overwhelmed looking barista, Mason according to his nametag, and headed to the grocery store to pick up a steak and some fixings for dinner. His father had sent him an electric grill as a housewarming present when Stiles had told him about the back porch and small yard at the duplex.

He glanced at the door to Derek’s house, noticing some Amazon packages were stacked next to it. He hurried inside, wondering if Derek was waiting until dark to bring them in or just didn’t know they were there. He remembered seeing packages on the back porch once or twice, so he went back out and picked them up, carrying them through his half and out the back, stacking them next to Derek’s door. Stiles pressed his ear to the door and heard movement, so he knocked, waiting a moment before there was a tentative tap in return. “Dude, you have packages,” he said, smiling when there was another tap. He patted the door and went back inside hearing Derek’s door open as his closed.

The next morning, Saturday, Stiles had the day off so he decided to sleep in for a little while before he tried to put in some work on his novel. He was moving into the kitchen when he detected movement near his backdoor followed by a quiet knock and then scurrying. Hurrying to the door, he pulled it open just as Derek’s door closed. Puzzled, Stiles looked around. He took a step, kicking something. Kneeling, he discovered the basket he’d left for Derek, his heart dropping for a moment until he removed the checkered napkin over the top to discover it was filled with brownies and an envelope.

He picked the basket up before going back inside, plucking out the envelope and pulling out the contents. He chuckled as his eyes fell on an ingredient list that started with  _ “Brownie Mix.” _ Attached to the note was one of the panels from the box of mix, making Stiles chuckle as he continued reading the note.  _ “Thank you for the muffins. I don’t have any allergies. Hope you don’t either.” _ He’d signed it in a scrawl that was almost unrecognizable before adding. _ “P.S. I hope it wasn’t the music that kept you up, but I appreciate the outcome of your insomnia.” _

Stiles set the basket on the counter and grabbed one of the brownies, shoving it into his mouth as he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom to grab his laptop and move into the small office at the end of the hall. Settling into the desk chair, he turned his computer on staring out the window over the desk while it booted. The sky was slightly overcast, but the sun was trying to poke out from behind the clouds. He hoped that it would clear up; he wasn’t sure if he could handle a thunderstorm on his own and began wondering if he should get a dog, one that was trained to help people with anxiety.

Storms hadn’t been a problem for him as a kid; in fact, he’d loved sitting underneath the overhang of the house with his mother and watch the lightning split the sky. Unfortunately, ever since the night his mom had died and a storm raged outside the hospital, storms had become unbearable for him. He felt his chest tighten as he remembered the flickering lights and the various alarms going off throughout the hospital as he’d sat at his mom’s bedside, clutching to her hand and sobbing as he’d felt her slipping away from this world.

Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath to center himself and pull his focus away from the memories that haunted him, he opened Google Docs. The document containing his outline for his novel showed at the top of his screen, taunting him. He’d shown it to his dad, asking for input on the mystery element and been told he was off to a good start. He’d hoped that having a dedicated area to write would keep him focused in a way the coffee table and couch in his college apartment never had. He planned to use the blank wall to the left of the desk as a storyboard. Glancing at the box of supplies pushed against said wall, he moved away from the desk and knelt beside it, pulling out rolls of string and boxes of pushpins. 

He worked until the wall was a tangle of notecards and strings. He felt confident that he had enough of a plan to sit down and begin writing, but as he returned to his computer, his stomach growled. A glance at the clock on his computer told him he’d been at it for close to four hours and the only thing he’d eaten so far was that singular, absolutely delicious but not very filling, brownie, so he shut down his computer, grabbed his phone from where it was charging and hopped down the stairs. He paused in the living room as he heard music coming from next door.

He hummed along with the tune as he continued into the kitchen, although the melody was unrecognizable from there. He opened his refrigerator and groaned at the lack of quick to make and eat food. Closing the fridge, he perused the take-out menus that Coach had provided when he’d moved in and now decorated the front of his fridge held up by magnets from local establishments. He finally decided on Chinese because the place guaranteed quick delivery. After placing the order, he sat against the wall and listened to Derek play. He went back to his seat after the food was delivered, deciding he needed to get something comfortable to sit on if he was going to make a habit of spending hours listening to Derek play.

He ended up dozing off as he listened, jolting awake when a clap of thunder shook the duplex. He scrambled to his feet, whimpering and jumping over the empty takeout containers, thankful that the lights were still on as he hurried to the center of the room and grabbed a blanket off the couch, wrapping it around himself as he settled on the floor in front of it and curled into himself. He closed his eyes tightly and counted between the flashes of lightning he could see behind his lids and the claps of thunder that gutted him. 

He was doing alright until there was no time to count and the entire house shook. His eyes flew open as all the lights in the house went out and he couldn’t stop the scream that ripped out of him. The music he hadn’t realized was still playing stopped suddenly and there was a frantic tapping on the wall. Stiles kept screaming until his breath stopped coming and he could see prickles of black at the corners of his vision. 

The tapping grew more persistent until it stopped with a heavy thud. Stiles stared blankly at the wall, his breaths coming shorter, startling violently when pounding began on his back door. He thought he heard a voice, but it was drowned out between the storm and the pounding.  He dragged himself closer to the kitchen, each move exhausting him more but his curiosity about who or what was at the door kept him moving until he felt linoleum under his fingers.

He scurried backwards when the doorknob turned, the door slamming open, shattering the window beside it. A large figure stood in the opening, backlit by lightning and breathing heavily. Stiles opened his mouth to scream again, but lost consciousness before any sound could escape.

Stiles blinked his eyes open, the tightness in his chest and the pounding in his head pulling a groan from him as he struggled to sit up. He was on his couch, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, another draped over his legs. The storm was still going on, but had slowed down; the rain a steady patter against the roof and the sky void of lightning flashes. The power was still out but in the dim light filtering in from the windows, he spotted a flashlight sat on the coffee table next to him. He reached for it, sliding it on and shined it around the room, jumping when he heard water running in the kitchen. It shut off, followed by a clank and then a quiet curse.

Creeping quietly, he peeked around the doorway and saw the back of a large man growling at his stove as he stood as far back from it as he could while turning the knob and holding out Stiles’ long wand candle lighter. He had to click it a few times before the flames wooshed underneath his tea kettle and the man jumped back with a cry, dropping the lighter with a clatter, before hurrying to turn the knob down to control the flame. The man stepped back from the stove and then opened cupboards, muttering under his breath. He grabbed out a box of tea and a mug, settling them on the counter, putting a bag in the mug before opening and closing the cupboards again.

“Sugar’s in the metal tin on top of the fridge,” Stiles said, causing the stranger to whip around and stare at him.

The man’s hand flew to his chest as he let out a yelp just as the lights in the kitchen blazed on and Stiles got a good look at his intruder, gasping at the sight. The man was only slightly taller than him but well built. His eyes were bright green and wide with terror, lips parted around panting breaths. The right side of his face was puckered with scarring, but the left was unmarred and honestly breath-taking. Stiles immediately knew who he was, his own panic lessening in counterpoint to the man’s growing despair.

“Derek?” he asked. Derek ducked his head in a quick nod, inching towards the backdoor. “Wait,” Stiles said, holding out his hands like he was approaching a wounded animal, in a way he supposed he was. Derek paused but didn’t look up. “You don’t have to leave.”

As Stiles drew closer, he noticed the tremors running through Derek. He froze a few steps away, trying to come up with something to say. “Thank you for the brownies,” he finally decided on, waiting until he saw a gentle shrug of Derek’s shoulders. “And your music, it doesn’t keep me up. In fact, I’ve fallen asleep a couple of times-”

He was cut off by the shriek of the tea kettle and he turned towards the stove, grabbing the kettle as he shut off the flames. His shoulders drooped when he heard the door open and shut behind him. When he turned, he found himself alone in the kitchen, no sign that Derek had even been there, except for one very obvious sign. 

Stiles gaped at the plastic taped over the broken window, his broom leaning against the wall and his kitchen chairs arranged in a protective manner around it. Derek had been busy while Stiles was unconscious and he wasn’t sure if he was bothered that he hadn’t woken to the noise or touched that Derek would help a stranger in such a way. 

Shaking his head, a fond feeling growing in his chest, he moved into the living room, pressing his ear towards the wall and hearing movement but no music. “Thank you for helping me tonight!” he called through the wall, hoping his voice was raised enough for Derek to hear. The movements stopped and he thought he heard the sound of the piano being opened, but no music came. “I’m afraid of storms,” he admitted, voice soft but still louder than usual. A gentle plink of a piano key brought Stiles his first smile in hours. 

Stiles spent the next thirty minutes talking, telling Derek why he was afraid of storms and then venturing into stories about his mom and his dad. He finally ended up talking about his novel, only stopping when his throat grew dry and sore. He remembered the tea sitting in the kitchen and pushed off the wall, relieved when music began to play softly through the wall.

After using the microwave to reheat the water, he fixed his tea the way that he liked and grabbed one of the cushions off the couch and dropped it on the floor next to the wall, settling down to listen. He managed to stay awake until he heard the thump of the piano closing. He tapped the wall twice, grinning until his cheeks hurt when there was a double tap back. “Good night, Derek,” he whispered as he cleaned up and headed back upstairs. He had barely climbed into bed before falling into a deep sleep.

Stiles was drifting in and out of consciousness when a knock sounded at his front door. Stretching, he opened his mouth to shout out, “I’m coming,” when he heard a key in the lock. Stumbling, he raced to the stairs, tripping down the first couple before sliding down the rest and letting out curses. He found himself on his ass, looking up at Coach and two men carrying toolboxes. “Bilinski!” Coach shouted. “You’re home!”

Stiles glanced at the clock on the wall by the door and rolled his eyes. “It’s seven a.m. on Sunday morning,” he responded, his annoyance lost in a large yawn.

“Your neighbor texted me a picture of your back window. What used to be your back window, anyway. These guys’ll fix it,” Coach said, leading the guys through the house without another word. 

Dumbfounded, Stiles watched them go before scrambling to his feet and following them into the kitchen. The larger of the two guys was opening the back door when he entered but didn’t step outside. Squatting down, the man stood back up, turning to Stiles with a large box in his arms. “I’m guessing this is yours,” he said, smiling quietly and holding it out.

Stiles took it, eyes going to the name patch on the man’s coveralls. “Thanks, Vernon.”

“Boyd,”  the man corrected with a smile. “That’s Isaac,” he continued, pointing to the other man, thin with a tangle of blond curls on his head who nodded from where he was carefully removing the tape holding the plastic over the broken window. 

“Now that you know who’s who, I’ll leave you to your work,” Coach told the men before grabbing Stiles by the arm and pulling him back toward the front door. “I told you to stay away from him,” he hissed and something hit the floor in the kitchen followed by whispered conversation.

Stiles glared and opened his mouth to argue. “I promised him when I agreed to handle the renting of this unit that he wouldn’t be bothered,” Coach nearly shouted. 

“Wait, you don’t own the building?” Stiles asked.  

“That’s what you took from that, Bilinski?” Coach huffed. “Leave Hale alone!” he shouted and stormed out the door, slamming it behind himself. 

Stiles stared after him and then down at the box in his arms, wondering if that message had come from Derek himself; had his neighbor been bothered by his small gestures toward interactions. Setting the box on the coffee table, he opened it and smiled, knowing he was going to ignore Coach’s intense ramblings. Reaching in, he pulled out a flashlight, a package of batteries, an air horn and a plastic baggie of homemade chocolate chip cookies. He understood everything except the air horn until he read the note.

_ “Next time, blow the horn and save your voice.” _

Taking a chance, he crossed to the wall and tapped three times, letting out a relieved breath when he heard three plinks of piano keys. “Thank you,” he called through the wall. “I’ll definitely try to use the air horn next time. My throat is pretty torn up today.” He coughed to clear his throat as he tried to ignore the insinuation that Derek would come, or at least send someone, to help him if he blew the air horn.

There was silence for several minutes until a melody began to play. It was familiar, but Stiles couldn’t place it. He leaned his forehead against the wall, his mind trying to pull at the strings of memory and find the title of the song. He jumped when someone spoke up behind him.

“It’s ‘You’re Welcome’ from  _ Moana _ ,” Isaac said, a gentle curve to his lips. “He was always a fan of Disney when we were younger. I guess that hasn’t changed.” Stiles gaped at him, but he disappeared into the kitchen before Stiles could ask any questions and he began to wonder just how many people in town had been close to Derek before the fire.

After the song was finished, Stiles went up to his office and sat down at his computer. He wrote for several hours, stopping once when Isaac wandered upstairs to tell him that they were leaving and again when his stomach growled loudly enough to be heard over a recommended playlist for writers that was playing through his speakers.

He made his way downstairs, pausing in the living room but hearing nothing from next door. He knew Derek was home, he was always home, but maybe he was actually sleeping since he never seemed to do that at night. In the kitchen, he looked over the new window, pleased to discover that, unlike the previous one, it could open and close to allow in a slight breeze. 

He pulled up Spotify on his phone and chose an eighties playlist while he prepared a ravioli lasagna dish. It was a simple recipe so as he worked, he talked out loud to himself about everything he’d written that day. Once the dish was in the oven and the timer set, he focused his attention on an empty kitchen chair, strutting around in front of it and waving his arms like a police officer in a bad made-for-tv movie.

“So, how did he do it if he was seen at the mall just ten minutes before the estimated time of the murder?” he asked aloud. He would have to rewrite a massive section from that day, if he couldn’t figure something out to justify the gaff in his plot. The timer on the stove went off at the same time that his phone buzzed with an incoming message. 

He opened the oven, taking out the dish and setting it on the stovetop to cool and then grabbed his phone, expecting his father and surprised to see a text from an unknown number. His own curiosity, which would probably get him killed one day, had him thumbing it open.

_ Unknown: Extreme temperatures and climate can cause errors in determining time of death. _

The text had him looking around for someone in the room that had witnessed him babbling to himself; his eyes resting heavily on the chair he’d been addressing. He glanced towards the front windows, afraid if he looked outside he would see a truck from Eichen House, Beacon Hills’ Psychiatric Facility, waiting to take him away. Since his sanity was already in question, he called out a tentative, “Thank you,” because, despite the questionable sources, the information meant he only had to make a couple of small changes to get back on track. Besides, his father had raised him to be polite even to the voices in his own head.

As he used the notepad he kept on the fridge for grocery lists to jot down notes with one hand and peeled the aluminium foil off the dish releasing steam, his phone buzzed on the counter from the same unknown number. He opened the message, laughing loudly as a gif of Maui from  _ Moana _ saying, “You’re Welcome,” revealed the identity of his mysterious supplier of helpful trivia.

“Derek, you’re a secret dork, aren’t you?” he shouted looking down when his phone buzzed again and he was greeted with the ‘speak no evil’ monkey emoji. “Are you hungry?” he asked before he could stop himself.

_ “I should eat.”  _ Should, not could. The quick glimpse he’d gotten of Derek the night before told Stiles that he was in good shape, but there was no way to know for sure how well he looked after himself and Stiles always ended up making too much food.

“Join me for dinner,” Stiles shouted, opening a drawer and pulling out a giant spoon to scoop up the food. Frowning when the next text just said,  _ “No.” _ He would respect that, but he really had made too much food and no one was going hungry on his watch. He grabbed a plate, filling it and covering it with foil before carrying it out onto the back porch. He didn’t want to set the plate on the ground, so he dragged over his deck chair and carefully set the plate on the seat before knocking on Derek’s door three times. “Come and get it,” he called.

Stiles was closing his door as he heard Derek’s open. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed with a thumbs up emoji followed by a,  _ “Seriously, thank you. It’s really good.” _

“You’re welcome!” Stiles sang back as he took his own plate back up to his office and settled down to work for a few more hours. 

Weeks passed and Stiles found himself getting to know Derek a bit better between notes and texts and even his music choices. If the music was upbeat then it had been a good day and although Stiles didn’t know what made them good, he strived to contribute to Derek’s happiness in any way that he could. 

He started cooking extra food and leaving plates for Derek outside his door, always respecting Derek and never looking back when he heard the door open. He’d picked up some plastic containers to put Derek’s meals in and they were always returned the next day, cleaned and full of baked goods and/or thank you notes.

One night Stiles had asked Derek if he had any favorite foods and the next day, along with a couple dozen double chocolate chip peanut butter cookies, appeared a packet of photocopies of handwritten recipes. He’d started working his way through them that very night, starting with the chicken piccata recipe. Derek had texted him:  _ Tastes just like mom’s,  _ so Stiles had put a gold star on the recipe and filed it in one of the three ring binders he kept in his office which he’d moved to rest on top of the refrigerator next to the sugar tin. The binder filled up quickly as Derek praised Stiles’ cooking more often than not, although the eggplant parmesan got a hard pass and a sickly green emoji in response; that recipe was now in a landfill somewhere along with the leftovers.

Although there were a lot of good nights, there were still those nights where the music was quiet and melancholic. Those nights, Stiles would remain silent, working on his laptop propped against the shared wall. The music would occasionally bring tears to his eyes and he pondered about what had happened to put Derek into such a mood. 

Those were the nights his concentration would waver from his novel to Derek and his life. He’d close out his writing files and Google stories about the Hale fire from local newspaper archives. Every article he read, every name he learned of the seventeen people who had perished, every detail of the search for a culprit after the cause of the fire was determined to be arson, was detrimental to his resolve to avoid the topic when talking to Derek. Only his fear of ending the tentative friendship they’d developed kept him quiet.

Late on one of the good nights, Stiles let out a groan as he pushed himself to stand away from the wall, stretching his arms over his head and popping the vertebrae in his back. He’d been sitting for hours, his laptop on his knees as Derek made his way through the soundtracks for first  _ The Aristocats _ and second  _ Oliver and Company.  _ He hadn’t recognized the second one, but Derek had sent him a link to the Wikipedia page when Stiles had asked through the wall between songs.

As Stiles bent down to touch his toes and stretched some more, the music stopped and his phone buzzed next to his feet on the floor. He wasn’t surprised to see a message from Derek.

_ You alright? _

Turning and leaning his forehead against the wall, he pulled first one foot and then the other up to stretch his legs. “Getting a little old to be spending hours curled up on the floor with my laptop,” he said to the drywall.

_ Sit in a chair, dumbass. _

“Can’t hear clearly from the chair,” Stiles responded. “I tried one night, but when the music gets quiet, it’s too muffled.” His phone buzzed again before he was done speaking.

_ How old is too old? You look about nineteen. _

Stiles laughed. “You found me passed out from a panic attack, that would make anyone look young.” He shook away the memory. “I’m twenty-four. You?” He’d worked out that the fire had happened when Stiles was around twelve, but the articles never mentioned the age of the sole survivor.

_ 28. _

Stiles stared at the numbers on his phone. Derek had been sixteen when his entire life had changed and Stiles didn’t know how to respond to that. He was struggling to come up with something to say when the music started up again. He recognized the slower song as “Piano Man” by Billy Joel who had been, according to Wikipedia, a voice in  _ Oliver and Company _ , so the transition made sense. On happy nights, when it got late, Derek would start playing slower music, a cue Stiles took to mean it was time to head up to bed.

“Good night, Derek,” he called as he set his laptop down on the coffee table and headed up to his room, smiling down at the good night text from Derek that came through when the song was finished.

The next morning was terrible; Stiles’ entire body screamed in agony as he reached for his alarm to silence it. He wanted to just call off of work and go back to sleep, but his father had instilled him with a ridiculously strong work ethic. He’d always told Stiles that unless you were in the hospital, dying or it was an unavoidable emergent situation, you went to work. Not only had his father told him that, but he’d displayed it himself, only missing work a few times in Stiles’ memory and all of those had been while his mom had been sick and after she’d passed away. Although a small part of him was convinced he just might be dying, he forced himself out of bed and into a button-up and khakis.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a far off rumble of thunder and saw the grim overcast of the sky through the windows by the front door. His heart stuttered and he rethought his plan to walk to work so he could stop by the coffee shop to see if Erica was working to try sweet talk her into some stories about Derek while she filled his order. He didn’t relish the idea of trying to find a parking spot near the shop and running through the rain just for a cup of coffee and no guarantee that Erica was working, so he headed to the kitchen to brew his own.

He juggled his travel cup filled with too much sugar with his lunchbox, just in case the weather stayed bad, as he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. Hurrying to the Jeep, he settled into the front seat before running a caress over the steering wheel and whispering,  “C’mon, Roscoe, we got this,” a habit he’d picked up from his mom when the Jeep had been hers. She swore it was the only way to keep Roscoe running - that and a fuckton of duct tape.

Stiles turned the key, heard the click of the alternator and then nothing except the rain beating down on the roof. He tried three more times before stopping and letting his head hit the steering wheel as a bolt of lightning flashed above him, lighting up the street enough for Stiles to see a figure standing just outside the passenger door, peering in the window.

“Holy shit!” he screamed when the door opened and Boyd stuck his head inside. “Where the hell did you come from?” He pressed his hand to his chest, surprised he couldn’t feel his heart pounding from the outside as he struggled to catch his breath.

Boyd jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards a truck parked in the street in front of the duplex, engine running. He could just spot Isaac’s curls in the driver’s seat. “Derek needed us for something, but you look like you need us more. Can we give you a ride somewhere?”

Stiles hesitated, he’d only actually met and interacted with Boyd and Isaac the day they’d repaired the window, but he’d seen them around town and stopping by and leaving packages at Derek’s side of the duplex. Plus, he really didn’t want to have to walk through the rain to work. Swallowing and squaring his shoulders, he said. “The library.”

Boyd’s grin grew broad. “That’s the second thing on our agenda today, but Derek can wait and I’m guessing that you can’t.” He slammed the door and hurried around to Stiles’ side, allowing him to get out and underneath the umbrella to make their way to the truck.

Stiles tried to argue that he could be late or just walk because he didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, especially Derek. “He’s not going anywhere,” Boyd assured him as Stiles’ phone buzzed. 

Stiles wanted to be annoyed by the comment, but it didn’t sound like a drag on Derek’s situation; it was almost fond and Stiles wondered just how close Boyd and Derek were or had been. Once he settled into the middle of the seat of the truck, he checked his messages, smiling as he read over what Derek had sent:  _ Are Boyd and Isaac kidnapping you? _

Stiles let out a laugh, ignoring Boyd’s raised eyebrows and the way Isaac leaned over to see his phone before smiling and putting the truck into gear, his head watching traffic for an opportunity to pull away from the curb. 

**Roscoe wouldn’t start. They’re giving me a ride. Hope it doesn’t screw up your plans for them.**

_ I’m not going anywhere. You’re sure you’re alright? _

He looked back towards the duplex and saw the curtains moving, much like the day he’d moved in. **Stop being a creeper and go about your day.** He smirked as the curtains dropped back into place and he liked to think Derek was blushing, but he really didn’t know. He wanted to ask Boyd but didn't want to be a creeper like he’d just accused Derek of being. **Don’t miss me too much.**

Stiles couldn’t even control the fit of giggles that Derek’s simple middle finger emoji response caused. Boyd glanced down at the phone as Isaac pulled in front of the library as close to the entrance as he could get without driving on the sidewalk. He chuckled when Boyd stole the phone from Stiles and showed him the screen. 

“So, now we know who to blame for Derek’s sudden knowledge and overuse of emojis,” Boyd said, winking at Stiles as he returned the phone.

Stiles’ smile was sheepish as he shrugged and tucked his phone into his pocket as Boyd got out of the truck and held the umbrella up for him. “Then you can be the one to explain to him that the aubergine does not mean what he thinks that it does!” Isaac shouted after him and Stiles gaped as Boyd shoved him gently toward the library doors.

“Give me your keys,” Boyd said, once they were under the overhand. “I’ll try to take a look at your Jeep at some point today. Let Lydia know we’ll be back in a few hours to take care of the wall.”

Stiles tossed him the keys and thanked him, standing and waving until the truck was out of sight. Turning, he jumped as he found Lydia standing in the doorway, looking a bit disheveled and slightly annoyed. 

“You don’t ever check your messages, do you?” she snapped and disappeared back into the library.

Glancing down, he saw there was a voicemail from Lydia that had been left while he’d been trying to start the Jeep. He had Siri type out the message and he realized she’d been telling him about a bit of flooding in the children’s corner and that the library was closed for the day and he should just stay home. He looked up at the sky and wondered how soaked he would be by the time he got to the coffee shop, he was just glad there wasn’t any more thunder or lightning.

“Well, you might as well get in here and help me move books since you’re here,” Lydia said, reappearing in the doorway and holding it open for Stiles to hurry inside.

By the time Lydia declared them to be done for the day, Stiles felt like he’d been hit by a semi-truck. His back was aching and he could feel his sinuses filling up as a marching band wearing cleats performed a half-time show in his skull. He walked out of the library with Boyd who had come back to drop off his keys and the Jeep, which was working perfectly.

“I don’t know how you managed to keep that thing running for this long,” Boyd said. 

“Duct tape and faith,” Stiles teased.

“The CB radio is in great shape, though. I was a bit surprised to see it,” Boyd told him. “Not exactly a standard accessory in this day and age.”

“It was my mom’s, too. Dad insisted she have one before cell phones were a thing and I kept it. I had the police frequency memorized. Keep saying I’m going to get Beacon Hills’ frequency, but haven’t gotten around to it.” 

Boyd smiled at him and started playing with his phone for a moment before rattling off a series of numbers. “Does that work?”

“Hell, yeah,” Stiles responded as he reached in and switched the station, smiling when he heard the police band before switching it off. “How?”

“Our friend Jordan is a deputy.”

“Thanks! So, what do I owe you?” Stiles asked, smiling when Roscoe started immediately.

“Nothing,” Boyd told him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coveralls.

“Not even for parts?” Boyd just shrugged. “At least let me give you something for your time,” he insisted, digging out his wallet, but Boyd just shoved the money back at him. 

Boyd looked nervous and glanced over to Isaac who was sitting in the back of the truck, legs swinging and a smile on his face as he tilted it up toward the sun that was finally coming out from behind the clouds. “I don’t know how you did it, but Derek seems to like you and he takes care of those people he likes. Just don’t let him know I told you,” he finally said before turning and walking away, leaving Stiles to puzzle out his words.

The drive home was quick, Stiles bypassing the coffee shop when he saw Erica exiting and climbing into Boyd and Isaac’s truck as he passed. Did everyone in this town know each other or was it just these three who seemed to have more insight into his neighbor than anyone else. 

Stopped at the one light in town, he sneezed three times and groaned at the explosion of pain behind his eyes. Turning into the pharmacy parking lot, he picked up his phone and called his father. “Dad, what is that nasty crap you always made me take when I was sick?”

His father laughed and named off the medicine and then asked if he needed him to come out and check up on him, but Stiles turned him down. “Just make sure you get some rest. That Lydia isn’t working you too hard, is she?”

Stiles studied the shelves, trying to find the orange liquid that always made him gag but was the only thing that helped to clear up his sinuses. “I’m actually off for the next few days. The rain flooded the children’s area and the library’s closed while the repairs are being done.”

“Sounds like kismet. Was it a bad one?” His father’s voice lowered in the tone he always used when he was trying to be careful of Stiles’ feelings.

“Not this last one,” Stiles told him, grabbing the bottle and then heading to the aisle that held cans of soup, thinking he’d cheat and just heat up some chicken noodle for dinner. He told his father about the storm a few weeks earlier when he’d seen Derek for the first time.

“I remember that fire,” his father said. “They called in fire departments from neighboring counties, including ours.” His father went on to say that he’d actually gone to the site of the fire and helped clear through the debris and then gone to the hospital with the sheriff to visit Derek. “He was in a medically induced coma at the time to save him from pain while the burns healed. Honestly, I don’t think anyone expected him to survive. Poor kid.”

“He’s twenty-eight now and from what I’ve heard, never leaves his house,” Stiles said as he approached the checkouts. One had no customers, the cashier was a blonde woman who was eying him critically, clearly listening to his side of his conversation with his father. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later. Love you.”

“You, too, kiddo,” he responded.

“So, you’re the guy living next to the freak,” the woman at the counter, her name tag reading  _ I’m Kate!  _ said.

Stiles was stunned, he was used to the nosiness of the people in town when they realized he lived in the duplex, but this was the first time anyone had been blatantly rude to Derek. In fact, as he thought about it, everyone usually expressed concern for him along with their inquisitiveness. He felt sick to his stomach, so instead of responding, Stiles gathered his stuff off the counter and went to the other register where a high school aged kid named Greenberg was more than happy to ring him up with extraneous conversation beyond what was needed for the transaction. Stiles exited the store quickly, making every effort not to break into a run as he felt the blonde’s eyes on him, his skin crawling until he reached the safety of his Jeep.

He pulled the Jeep into the driveway and up towards the back of the house, wary for the first time since he was a kid trying to cause trouble for the uniqueness of his vehicle. Everyone always knew where Stiles was and right now, his mind went back to the creepy woman at the pharmacy. He sneezed three times as he made his way up the back steps and unlocked his door and into the kitchen, his phone buzzing immediately.

_ Gesundheit.  _

“Kudos on the spelling, creeper!” Stiles shouted as he shut the door behind him and he started coughing.

_ You’re sick. _

“No shit, Sherlock,” Stiles choked out between coughs. “Going straight to bed and never leaving.”

_ I’ll miss you. _

Stiles didn’t even respond, just took a dose of his medicine, chasing it down with water to get rid of the obnoxious taste. “Orange and pineapple, my ass,” Stiles muttered as he made his way towards the stairs, freezing when he stepped into the living room.

His eyes darted around the furniture, noting how nothing was in the same place as when he had left. The couch was pushed up against the wall with the coffee table in front of it. Basically, the entire layout had been rotated ninety degrees so that he could sit on the couch and listen to Derek play without killing his back. The lap desk he only used occasionally was already on the couch with his laptop.

Settling onto the couch, he dropped his head onto the back of it and moaned at how good it felt to just relax. A moment later, a peppy song started up and Stiles chuckled lowly just managing to avoid another coughing fit when he realized it was “A Spoonful of Sugar” from _Mary Poppins._ He closed his eyes, enjoying the music, fingers tapping as he felt the medicine beginning to work its way through his body. When the song ended, there was a pause before his phone buzzed. 

_ Go to bed. _

“I’m going,” Stiles said, coughing and cursing as he pushed himself to stand and Derek started playing “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” “Good night.”

He stripped as he climbed the stairs, not caring where his clothing landed until he was just in his boxers. He fell face first into bed, sleep taking over until he was just about to doze off. As his first snore started, he shot straight up in bed and reached for his phone.

**Did you move my furniture?**

He wasn’t sure what the answer was and he wasn’t sure if he would be bothered that Derek had been in his house when he wasn’t; he did own it after all. He tapped, waiting for the phone to buzz, suddenly wide awake and wondering if he should have picked up the nighttime medicine instead. Finally, when he was about to head downstairs and knock on the wall, his phone buzzed several times in a row.

_ Depends. Are you angry? _

_ Technically, it wasn’t me. _

_ It was my idea, but Boyd and Isaac did all the work. _

_ I just didn’t want you hurting your back and I knew you were too stubborn to do it yourself. _

Smiling, Stiles read over the words and thought back to Boyd’s comment earlier in the day:  _ “He takes care of those people he likes.” _ Knowing that Derek’s heart had been in the right place and considering it an extension of the strange friendship they had, he found he couldn’t be angry at the invasion of his privacy. Besides, he liked Boyd and Isaac, so he didn’t feel as bothered as he probably should.

**I’m not angry. Thank you for that.**

**And for the Jeep. I seem to be thanking you a lot.**

After he hit send, he remembered he wasn’t supposed to know that Derek had paid for the repairs and he wished there was some way to take it back. He didn't want to cause friction between Derek and Boyd or between himself and Boyd, for that matter.

_ You’re too smart, you know, but you’re welcome. _

Stiles’ chest warmed at the compliment and he tried to think of a response. He was so focused on the screen that he startled at the sound of movement on the other side of the wall behind his headboard. As much as he tracked Derek’s movements on the lower level, this was the first he’d heard him upstairs. He wondered how Derek’s half of the duplex was laid out, if it mirrored Stiles’ and Derek was in his bedroom. Maybe he was actually going to go to sleep, something Stiles had begun to believe he never actually did. Running water told him it wasn’t a bedroom, but a bathroom and he wondered how he hadn’t realized before then. He shook his head and started coughing again.

_ Get some sleep, Stiles. _

**You, too. Good night, Derek.**

It took about a week before Stiles was back to full health and he’d spent all his time, not at work, curled up in bed. Derek had started leaving containers of homemade chicken soup and orange juice at Stiles’ door. One day he’d even left a stuffed Eeyore with an ice pack and a thermometer and a card that read:  _ No sense in both of us feelin’ down. Get Well Soon! _

When he was feeling back to himself, he fell into the habit of falling asleep on the couch listening to Derek. Thankfully, it was comfortable so it wasn’t a hardship and he was still able to get a lot accomplished on his novel. There were nights when Derek didn’t play for long and he found himself discussing the progress of the plot of his novel and discovering that Derek had a lot of insight that helped him when he got stuck. 

Outside of the duplex, Stiles developed a friendship with Boyd and, by extension, Erica and Isaac. They got together a couple of times a week for dinner and after a few weeks, and permission from Derek, he invited them to the duplex for dinner. Derek had left a chocolate cake for them but remained quiet. It was so quiet on the other side of the wall, his phone silent the entire night, that Stiles began to believe that he wasn’t home.

They were getting ready to leave when the music started, freezing them in the entryway. Stiles grinned and led them back into the living room where they squeezed together on the couch. This song he recognized immediately, “You’ve got a Friend in Me” from  _ Toy Story _ , and when the tears filled Erica’s eyes, he knew that she had identified it as well. Oddly enough, there were a few sour notes in the song as he played through, but Stiles thought he was the only one who noticed but only because Derek’s playing was usually flawless.

As soon as the song was done, the sound of the piano closing seemed louder than usual and footsteps echoed from Derek’s half. It sounded like he was racing up the stairs. No one said anything as they left, Erica hugging Stiles tightly before taking Boyd’s hand and following him out the door and into the truck where Isaac was already behind the wheel.

He waved as they pulled away, closing the door once they’d turned the corner. Stiles turned off the lights in the lower level before heading up the stairs, his steps cautious. He went into his bathroom, brushing his teeth and staring at his phone, willing it to light up. As he stepped into his room, he heard noise from Derek’s bathroom. At first, he wasn’t sure what the sound was but then Derek let out a sharp sob and Stiles collapsed onto his bed, clutching his phone.

“Derek?” he called and there was a clatter. “Hey. I won’t invite them over again.” He could just barely hear Derek sniffling, but his phone stayed dark, so Stiles started talking. He shared stories about himself from high school, including one about getting lost in the woods by his house one night with his best friend, Scott, and finally being found by the entire police force including the K-9 unit. 

He talked until his throat was sore. When he got to the point that he didn’t think he could get out another word, his phone buzzed. Letting out a breath of relief when he saw Derek’s name, he thumbed the message open.

_ Thanks.  _

**You’re welcome.**

Stiles didn’t sleep well that night, worrying about Derek and having a burst of inspiration for his book. It was just before sunrise and he was sitting at his kitchen table sipping coffee and absently playing a game of 2048 on his computer when he heard movement by his back door, followed by a light knock. Somehow, Derek knew Stiles was awake. Counting to ten before he moved over to the door, he was surprised to find an envelope lying on the porch with his name in Derek’s familiar handwriting on the front.

He carried it into the living room and settled onto the couch. He could hear Derek’s fingers brushing over the piano keys, but no noticeable melody as he opened the envelope and pictures fell out into his lap. A note written on Mickey Mouse paper was on top of the stack.  _ I thought you might want to see these. I don’t have a lot of photos, so I would appreciate getting these back. _

Even without that note, Stiles would’ve given them back; the creases and worn edges gave away their age and the amount of handling they’d been through. As he flipped through the pictures, he recognized younger versions of Erica and Boyd. He was pretty sure the curly haired one with the obnoxious scarves was Isaac, but he was in the shadows of the pictures most of the time and when he wasn’t he looked more like a scared rabbit than the friendly young man he’d gotten to know. He got to the middle of the stack and stopped, setting all of the other pictures to the side before leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he held that one photo out to take it in.

It was clearly taken before a formal dance of some sort, the group of teenagers were standing by a lake and he recognized his friends immediately, even Isaac looked relaxed. There were two other people in the picture and as he squinted and pulled the picture closer, it looked like there had been a third that had been cut off. His gaze only briefly looked over the girl in the picture before locking on the young man.

His head was tilted towards the cut edge of the photo, his arm going off the page, having been wrapped around someone, the edge of her dress visible along the rough edge. The boy was grinning, bunny teeth peeking from behind his lips and his eyes sparkled with an indescribable color that ripped a gasp from Stiles. Smooth skin, great cheekbones, and slightly spiky black hair finished off the look and Stiles swallowed hard. He held a finger over the left side of the face and it didn’t take a genius for him to figure out who that smile belonged to.

This was a picture of Derek before the fire and the small part of Stiles that wasn’t already crazy about Derek joined the party. “Damn, you’re hot!” he shouted, laughing when there was a smashing of discordant notes.

_ “Don’t lie.” _ The text was quick to come and Stiles waited for some more music, but nothing came.

“I’d never lie to you,” Stiles called out.

_ “I’m a freak. A monster. Everyone thinks so.” _

Stiles’ throat tightened at the raw pain in those words, the spark of happiness that he’d felt having Derek share the photos with him disappeared. He knew the words were false, that no one in town felt that way about him, except maybe that creepy woman at the pharmacy, but he also knew Derek wouldn't believe him if tried to argue with him. He opened his mouth anyway because if there was one thing that he was good at, it was running his mouth when he shouldn’t. Fortunately, before he could get a word out, Derek’s playing got louder although the song, which Stiles immediately recognized as “God Help the Outcasts” from  _ The Hunchback of Notre Dame,  _ was soft. He took the song for what it was, a change of subject and, as always, an indication of Derek’s mood. 

Although he would usually settle in and listen to the concert, he had something that had to be done. Moving up the stairs, Stiles used his printer to make a copy of the picture of Derek and his friends, wondering again about the person who had been cut out as he propped the copy up on his desk before taking all of the pictures and putting them back in the envelope and going to leave them at Derek’s door with a double knock. He heard Derek finish the song and move to the door, a part of him wanting to hurry out and catch him, but controlling his impulse; Derek was raw enough from the night before with his friends and from sharing the pictures, he didn’t need to push for more than the man was willing to give.

Things were tense for a few days around the duplex. Derek didn’t play music at all and Stiles began to wonder if he’d actually left. He would spend time talking without a response on his phone and by the fourth day of radio silence, Stiles began to worry. He thought about asking Erica if she’d talked to him, but he didn’t want to worry her needlessly if he was just pouting and avoiding Stiles. Eventually, he called Coach who launched into a rant reminding Stiles that he was supposed to stay the hell away from Derek but ended the call saying he’d check up on him.

The text startled Stiles out of a research spiral he’d fallen into and he rubbed his eyes to eradicate the images on the site about bioluminescent vampire squids he’d ended up on after starting out on a site about blood spatter patterns. He shrieked and knocked his phone off the couch next to him, scrambling to pick it up as another message buzzed and managing to end up hanging upside down off the couch with his laptop gripped between his legs.

_ You called Coach?  _ was the first message and before he could even finish reading it, another message appeared.  _ What happened? Are you all right? _

In lieu of an answer, Stiles snapped a picture of himself in his precarious position and sent it off before pushing himself back up on the couch and setting his laptop aside. As he settled, he sent a message to follow up the picture.

**I’d be doing better if I didn’t feel like I’d alienated the closest thing I have to a best friend in this town.**

Derek’s response was a line of questions marks and Stiles snorted before responding.

**You’ve been avoiding me.**

He jumped when he heard the piano open and he smiled as a few keys were pressed. He set his phone aside, figuring the conversation was over, but at least if Derek was playing music again, maybe he was doing alright. He stretched out over the couch, burying his face in one of the pillows, ready for a concert when his phone buzzed.

Popping open one eye, Stiles was surprised to see a message from Derek. Carefully opening the message, he was surprised by the length and wondered if Derek had been playing one handed just to throw him off and make him believe he was going to ignore him again.

_ Yes and no. I wasn’t really sure what to say, so for the first day I was ignoring you and I’m sorry about that. After that, I actually wasn’t home until a couple of hours ago. I’m back though and glad to be with my best friend again. _

Stiles warmed for a moment until Derek sent a picture of his piano and a string of laughing crying emojis. “Asshole,” Stiles called out but knew that it sounded like a term of endearment. He stared at the photo, taking in the details of the piano, it was an upright and clearly old. There were dark patches in the wood that looked almost like burns and there were also several Disney themed stickers stuck to it and a couple of spots where it looked like someone had tried to scratch off stickers. “That looks old.”

_ It’s the only thing that survived the fire besides me. _

Stiles stared at his phone; it was the first time Derek had brought up the fire and he wasn’t sure how to respond. His brain raced with words and phrases he could say, but none of them seemed appropriate and by the time he was about to whisper out, “I’m sorry,” the music started up again. “You’ll be in my Heart” from  _ Tarzan  _ was a good choice as he left Derek to his memories and switched his mind over to memories of his mother.

Stiles had managed to fall asleep on the couch again and when he woke up, he saw a message from Derek had come through at some point.  _ Good night, Stiles. _ It was a small thing and a message he’d sent many times before, but it still brought a smile to his face as he hurried to get ready for work.

He and Lydia spent the day hanging decorations for Halloween and planning out the party they’d be having for the kids Saturday afternoon. Although the librarians usually only worked one Saturday a month, they were all coming in that weekend to help with the party and Lydia announced they needed costumes. Stiles groaned. It wasn’t that he didn’t like dressing up, he just didn’t have any good ideas for a costume but when he opened his mouth to argue, Lydia cut him off and threatened to dress him up in the most embarrassing costume she could think of if he even tried to get himself out of it.

He stopped at the pharmacy on the way home, remembering that they’d stocked up on costumes for the holiday and hoped he could find something quickly. He was flipping through the rack, groaning as each cheap polyester option got worse and worse. A hand touching his arm dragged him abruptly out of his intense glaring. Turning, he bit back another groan when he saw who it was. 

“Can I help you with anything?” Kate asked, a rigid smile on her face.

“No,” Stiles answered. 

Kate looked over her shoulder at her manager that turned away to help a customer. When she turned back to Stiles, her smile was gone and her grip tightened on his arm, nails digging into his skin. “If you’re looking for a costume, you should dress as Belle; after all, you live with the Beast.”

Stiles jerked his arm away. “Are you always such a bitch?” he snapped at her, gratified when his outburst caught the manager’s attention.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, hurrying over.

“Of course not,” Kate simpered, turning into the manager and placing a hand on his chest.

“Yes, there is,” Stiles said, attempting to impersonate his father’s serious police officer voice. “I’ve only had two interactions with this employee and both times she was incredibly rude.”

“Is that so?” the manager asked, looking not at all surprised by Stiles’ statement.

“Of course not!” Kate repeated, her voice more strident and Stiles fought the urge to plug his ears against it. “He’s lying!”

“She has repeatedly insulted my neighbor and made me feel uncomfortable. If that’s acceptable behavior, I’ll be sure to take my business to the next town over,” Stiles continued, fighting to keep a smile off his face the more flustered that Kate became. He wasn’t sure if the manager had any idea that Derek was the neighbor he was talking about, but if he did and he was like most of the town, that would hold a lot more weight than just an insult against him.

“There’s no need for that, I assure you, Mr. Stilinski,” the manager said. “Please accept my apologies and extend them to Mr. Hale as well.” Kate opened her mouth to say something, but the manager cut her off. “I had my reservations about hiring you in the first place, now I know I should learn to trust my gut.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said, finally allowing his smile to break through. “I’m not feeling up to finishing my shopping today, but I will return as long as I am not greeted by her.”

“You asshole,” Kate hissed as Stiles walked away, head held high. He grinned at the thumbs up that Greenberg shot him from behind the register.

He didn’t relax until he’d made it home. Once he was inside, he collapsed on the couch, wincing when his momentum bumped it against the wall. He didn’t hear any movement from next door, so he pulled his laptop off of the coffee table and fired it up, opening google. There had to be a reason the woman hated Derek so much, but he knew he couldn’t ask.

His fingers hovered over the keys once he opened Google, not even sure of how to start. He typed in Derek’s name and got the same set of articles about the fire and a select few about his place on the basketball team. Nothing mentioned Kate and even when he added her name to the search, there was nothing that came up.

Frustrated, he set his laptop down and headed to the kitchen. His appetite was shot from the encounter with Kate, but he had too much energy to sit still for very much longer. Opening and closing the cupboards, he made a mental note of everything he had on hand and decided to make a batch of White Chocolate Puppy Chow. As he worked, he played music on his phone, pleased to find a Disney playlist on Spotify; he’d never been a huge fan of Disney music before, but Derek’s nightly concerts had started to rub off on him.

He was shaking the coated Chex in a bag, dancing to the music, when there was a knock at his front door. Making his way to the door, he tried to figure out who it could be; no one came to visit him, except maybe Derek but he never used the front door. He stopped moving when his mind went to Kate, fearing she’d stalked him to the house to retaliate for most likely having lost her job.

“Open the damn door, Stilinski,” Erica called before knocking again and Stiles hurried before the knocking disturbed Derek, who still hadn’t made any noise.

“Hi, Erica,” Stiles greeted as she pushed past him into the house, followed by a sheepish looking Boyd. 

“Is it true?” she demanded, hands on hips.

“Yes, it’s true,” Stiles started. “I am sadly single, but my heart is promised to another,” he finished with exaggerated remorse, ducking just in time to avoid Erica picking up a magazine and swinging it at his head. “Is  _ what _ true?”

“You got Kate Argent fired!” Erica screamed and there was a crash from next door. 

“Derek!” Stiles called, hurrying to the wall to press his ear against it. “Are you alright?” There was no response, but Stiles could hear the sound of tinkling glass and heavy breathing. “Hey, man, c’mon…” He tapped the wall, silently pleading with Derek to respond, stopping only when Erica gently pulled him away from the wall and onto the couch next to her, Boyd taking the other side.

“Who the hell is Kate Argent?” Stiles asked, keeping his voice low; he wasn’t sure if that was the trigger for the crash next door, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “Is that the horrid woman at the pharmacy?” Erica nodded. “She called Derek a freak and a beast!”

“Not surprised,” Boyd muttered and Erica shot him a look

“Who is she?” Stiles asked again, his voice taking on a pleading tone.

Boyd and Erica glanced at each other and opened their mouths to speak when the piano started next door. The keys were being pounded making the tune nearly unrecognizable but Stiles got it and the message pretty quickly. “You think you’re so funny!” he shouted through the wall. “That damn song is going to be stuck in my head for weeks now!”

Erica grinned as she whisper-sang, “Let it go, let it go….”

They listened to Derek finish the song and then the slamming of the piano cover before Erica and Boyd excused themselves. Erica hugged him and whispered in his ear, “Come by the coffee shop in the morning.” Stiles nodded and slapped Boyd on the arm, earning a playful shove that nearly knocked him on his ass.

Wandering back into the living room, he could hear Derek slamming around in the living room, things crashing and breaking. There were a few grunts and heavy breathing. “Derek,” Stiles called out carefully, wincing when the wall between them vibrated with the force of something hitting it. “Hey...hey, they left and you don’t have to tell me anything, right?” Something else hit the wall. “Come on. I don’t know what you have in your half, but I’m sure destroying it all won’t do you any good.”

There was silence for a few moments and then Stiles’ phone buzzed. He picked it up carefully, sure it was from Derek but almost terrified at what he would send through. The message wasn't from Derek but from his father.

_ Can you come visit this weekend? _

He glanced at the calendar on his phone, already knowing he wasn’t working and his lack of social life really meant the chances of him having something to do were slim to none. He also knew if he agreed without checking it would be the one time he promised to do something with someone and end up with an angry person on his hands. The calendar was clear though so he texted an affirmative and told his dad he’d drive down after work on Friday.

After a few minutes of back and forth with this dad, Stiles heard movement again from through the wall, the sounds of glass being swept up. “Hey, I have to go home for the weekend. Dad texted and he never pushes for a visit, so I need to try and figure out what’s going on... hope it’s not serious. I mean, he is a sheriff and things happen, but I would think if he was hurt he’d have asked me to come right away…” He trailed off as his phone buzzed, this time it was Derek.

_ Be safe. _

“Thanks,” he said, settling on the couch and pulling his laptop into his lap. He started working on his novel, hoping to have a few new chapters to show his dad when he got home. His fingers moved over the keys, his focus narrowing onto the screen until the sounds of Derek cleaning up became just a buzz. He startled when his phone buzzed three times in a row before falling off the couch.

_ I don’t want to interrupt if you’re inspired. _

_ But it’s after midnight and I know you said you work tomorrow. _

_ So, good night, I guess. _

Stiles stretched before shutting down his computer and setting it on the coffee table. “Thanks for looking out for me,” Stiles called through the wall before going to lock the front door. His eyes were caught by movement outside underneath the streetlight and he froze as a woman darted into the darkness as soon as he saw her. Shaking his head, he locked the deadbolt before crossing to the kitchen to double check that the back door was locked as well. He jumped when there were three taps on the door and then the sound of footsteps.

He pulled the door open once he heard Derek’s door open and close and looked down at the box sitting at his feet. Scooping it up, he tried to pull items out of the box but almost dropped it, so he moved to the kitchen table and set it down. He started to dig when his phone buzzed again.

_ The box should answer all your questions. If it doesn’t, you can ask, but I can’t promise answers. _

Stiles narrowed his eyes in confusion as he started to pull things out of the box and laid them on the table. There was a file folder that looked suspiciously like a police file as well as another folder full of newspaper clippings. There was also a journal of some sort and when Stiles opened it, he recognized Derek’s writing. He flipped to the first page and settled onto the chair, which squeaked beneath him, and started to read.

He’d only gotten four words in when his phone buzzed.

_ I should’ve waited to give that to you, probably. Go to bed. Please. _

Stiles put the journal down and everything back into the box. Although it was tough to fight his curiosity, he knew Derek was right and that he needed to get some sleep. He was upstairs and climbing into bed when he remembered that he hadn’t responded to Derek. He almost called out, but it was rare for Derek to actually be upstairs, so he shot off a text.

**Good night. I really do appreciate you looking out for me.**

The read receipt showed as soon as the message had sent and Stiles smiled imagining Derek waiting for Stiles to text.

_ You look out for me, too. Good night.  _

Unsurprisingly, Stiles overslept the next morning, so he hit the ground running to get to work even close to on time; the box on his kitchen table and his promised visit to the coffee shop forgotten. He made it to the library two minutes before they were scheduled to open, but there were already a few of the regulars waiting for him. One gave him a soft smile, while the other tsked at him with a judgemental glare. Stiles shared an eye roll with the friendly one as he let them in and set about his day.

It was a relatively quiet day at the library so Stiles spent time on the internet Googling Kate Argent, surprised when not too many things came up about her. There was a Facebook page, but it was semi-private, so the only information he learned as that she’d grown up in Beacon Hills but listed Seattle as her current residence. He wondered how old the information was since she was clearly back in Beacon Hills.

He let his head hit the counter with a groan, only raising it when the smell of curly fries reached his nose. Blinking his eyes and turning his head slightly to find Erica waving a white, grease-stained plastic bag in front of him.

He forced himself upright and made grabby hands, calling to the volunteer that was shelving books to cover the desk while he took lunch. Erica followed him into the break room and sat down across from him at the small table set up back there. “You didn’t show up this morning,” she said, her brow creased with worry.

“Overslept, sorry,” he said around the curly fries hanging out of his mouth and Erica laughed at him. He finished chewing and swallowing. “Was up a bit later after you left.”

“Derek?” she asked, running her nails over scratches already in the top of the table.

“Kind of,” Stiles admitted. “He did a bit more destroying after you left, but I was writing for the most part.”

“Your book...it’s going well?”

“Spit it out, Erica,” he said. “If this is about Kate, I don’t think Derek will be upset. He left a box full of stuff at my door last night and I have a feeling it’s about her, but I could be wrong.” He shrugged and took a bite of the burger that Erica had brought, chewing thoughtfully. “There was a police file in the box, but I can’t find any signs of a public record for her.”

Erica’s eyes widened for a moment before her lips tightened. “She was never charged with anything.” She tapped her fingers on the table several times before bringing a nail to her mouth and chewing the corner of one. “She was Derek’s girlfriend.” Stiles choked on his next bite. “They broke up right before the fire.” 

Stiles chewed rapidly, trying to swallow to ask any one of the million questions that were firing through his brain, but she held up a hand and continued talking. “She was a senior, new to the school and set her sights on Derek. He was pretty popular back then, but he didn’t date much. He was awkward around people he didn’t know very well.” Stiles smiled, thinking that hadn’t changed. “She was...persistent, though.” Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile and Stiles felt his food settle like a lead weight, shoving away the rest.

“Did Derek  _ want _ to date her?” Stiles asked and Erica shrugged. “Did they date long?”

“Long enough. None of us really knew her, she didn’t want to spend much time with us, but she coerced Derek to go to one of the formals with her.” She chuckled. “He hated dances. Hated dressing up, but he agreed to do it for her, but only if we could all go with them.”

Stiles closed his eyes, letting out a breath of realization. Kate was the one cut out of the photograph, so that meant Derek was only about sixteen in that photo. “Did,,,did he end up having fun?” He knew it was a weird question, but for some reason, the answer was important to him.

“At first, he seemed to, but then Kate had gone to the bathroom and Boyd was off talking to some of the other football players and one of my favorite songs came on. Derek knew how much I loved the song, so he asked me to dance.” Erica’s eyes were filling with tears. “He was one of my best friends, of course, I said yes.”

Stiles didn’t even need to let her continue, just based on what little he did know about Kate, he could imagine her reaction when she came back from the bathroom and found Derek dancing with Erica. He imagined Erica’s head thrown back in laughter while Derek smiled down at her. He felt a jealous twinge in his heart and he wasn’t even dating Derek, so he’s sure that Kate’s slightly off-kilter brain sent her into overdrive.

“She went completely psycho. Screaming at him and me. She shoved me and I wanted to go after her, but the stress of her attacking me triggered an epileptic seizure.” Erica looked embarrassed. “Derek chose to help me over playing nice with Kate.”

“Another nail in the coffin,” Stiles provided and didn’t even need Erica’s nod for confirmation.

“Kate stormed out of the dance, taking the limo she’d insisted Derek get for us and leaving us stranded, although I rode an ambulance out.” She shrugged when a laugh burst out of Stiles. He slapped a hand over his mouth, waving his hand in apology. “It’s alright, I can laugh about it now.”

“Did Kate break up with Derek after that?” Stiles couldn’t think of one good reason for Derek to stay with her, so he choked on a bite of fry when Erica shook her head.

“I think he thought they were broken up, but she showed up at his house the next day acting as if nothing had happened,” she said. “Derek said she was really sweet and…” She trailed off and her cheeks flushed. “He never said for certain, but I think she seduced him. I’m pretty certain she took his virginity.”

“Fuck…” Stiles thought back to the girl he’d lost his virginity to and how he’d followed her around for months afterwards, convinced they were in love and she’d just been drunk and really wanted him to just leave her alone. If Derek was anything like him, sleeping with Kate would’ve solidified their relationship.

“It didn’t take long for things to fall apart again. Derek got a job washing dishes at the diner in town. I’m sure he told Kate about it, but I don’t think she ever actually heard a word he said.” Erica started cleaning up and Stiles realized his lunch break was over. “To make what little else I know short, she showed up at Derek’s house one night while he was at work and went psycho on his mom.”

“Damn,” Stiles said, walking next to Erica back to the desk, glad to see the library was still relatively empty so they could talk for a few more minutes.

“No one was more important to Derek than his family, so when he found out what she’d done, he finally broke it off with Kate,” Erica said, her voice hitching. “She didn’t take it well. She hit him and then threatened to kill him.”

“Shit.” Stiles wondered when his language had been reduced to a string of single curse words. He thought back over everything that she’d told him. “Do you think she set the fire?” Erica’s fingers that had been tapping on the counter froze and she looked up at him, eyes wide. “Did you not consider that?” She shook her head slowly. “She threatened to kill him! How long after that did the fire happen?”

“A couple of months. Right after Derek had told us he was leaving to go to a music camp for the summer,” Erica told him.

“Told who?”

“Just Boyd and Isaac and me.” She closed her eyes for a second before opening them again, suspicion darkening her light brown eyes. “But we were at school. Anyone could’ve overheard.”

The door to the library opened and they turned to see Kate walking into the library, a sickly sweet smile on her face. Erica excused herself hurriedly, but instead of heading outside she made her way deeper into the library and Stiles could hear her talking rapidly.  When he turned his attention back towards the door, he jumped to find Kate standing on the other side of the desk looking expectant.

“C...c-an I help you?” he stammered out.

“I was hoping to use one of the computers,” she said, reaching a hand out to lay over Stiles’ on the desk, but he jerked away remembering her nails digging into his arm the day before. “I need to find myself a job since I was unjustly fired yesterday.” Her voice as hard and her eyes narrowed.

Stiles swallowed hard, struggling to keep his face neutral. “Library card?” 

“Well, see, I haven’t been back in town very long so I don’t have one,” she said, her voice returning to normal as she reached toward Stiles again.

“I’m sorry. Without a library card, you can’t use the computers,” he stated, moving away slowly.

“I’m sure that you can make an exception since you are the reason I’m in this mess,” she snapped.

Stiles wanted to dive for the phone, especially when she started to make her way around the desk, but the door burst open and Boyd walked in casually chatting with Deputy Parrish. They both stopped and looked over to see Kate with one foot behind the desk. “New employee, Stiles?” Parrish asked, tucking a hand into his utility belt in a way that pushed back his jacket to reveal his gun.

“No, sir,” Stiles responded, a smirk quirking his lips. “Just an unhappy patron.”

“This man assaulted me!” Kate said, her face going from angry to tearful so quickly Stiles wanted to laugh. “He was trying to pull me behind the desk!”

“Lies!” Erica said, coming up from the stacks. 

“Of course you’d take his side. You’re friends with him,” Kate argued. “And you hate me.”

“Right on all counts,” Erica said, smiling and moving over to Boyd.

Parrish sighed. “Any other witnesses?”

Coach came around the corner of the periodicals section and looked around at the group gathered around the desk. “She’s lying,” he said, pointing to Kate. “She’s always been a pro at twisting things to make herself look good.” Without another word, he walked out of the library leaving them all staring after him.

“I’m going to have to ask you to come with me,” Parrish said once he’d recovered from the shock of Coach’s sudden appearance and disappearance, reaching for Kate’s elbow. She tried to jerk away, but he was faster. “Anything you’d like to add?” he asked Stiles.

“She’s not allowed in the building again,” he stated.

“It’s a public building!” Kate argued.

“We can get something worked out if you stop by the station,” Parrish told him and pulled Kate out while she spat out curses and even a couple threats. “You’re not helping your case.”

“Fuck,” Stiles said, running a hand over his hair. “Thank you, Erica.”

“Anytime. We’ve all got your back,” she told him, curling her arm through Boyd’s and leaving Stiles alone in the library.

The rest of the day was uneventful and Stiles returned his attention to Googling Kate. He went so far as to pull the Beacon Hills High School yearbooks for her years there, unsurprised to see her pictured many times, several with a crown on her head.

Just before closing, Lydia’s mother walked in and found him reshelving the yearbooks. “I’d accuse you of suffering nostalgia, but you’re not from here and you’re a bit young for those.”

Stiles laughed as he turned to her. “Good evening, Ms. Martin, is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, I’m here to talk to you,” she said, a small smile on her lips.

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” Stiles joked but it fell short and he was thankful when his phone began bussing the alarm letting him know it was time to close. “We’re actually closing.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here now. Can I bribe you with dinner?” She was still smiling and it appeared relaxed and genuine.

He stammered as he tried to come up with an excuse, finally pulling out his phone to fake a phone call when it buzzed with a message from Derek. “Er...I should take this.”

“Of course.” She smiled, almost knowingly, and stepped away allowing Stiles to check his phone in peace. He was stunned as he read the words, the suspicious part of him awakening with a vengeance.

_ Is Natalie there? _

_ I mean Ms. Martin? _

**Yes.**

_ Talk to her. _

Stiles began to text back an argument, but Derek’s next text killed all resistance.

_ Please. For me. _

He texted a thumbs up to Derek, grinning at the gif of Rachel and Phoebe from  _ Friends _ jumping up and down and clapping he got in response. He turned his attention back to Ms. Martin. “So, where do you want to do this, then?”

They ended up at the diner tucked into a booth in the back making small talk about the town and Lydia until the waitress had taken their orders. Once she was out of direct earshot, he turned back to Ms. Martin. “I assume this is about Derek since he knew you were coming to see me.”

She nodded her head once before speaking, her voice soft. “Are you aware of what I do for a living?”

Stiles tilted his head in thought until he remembered one of his first conversations with Lydia. “You’re a counselor at the high school.”

“That is one of the many hats I wear, but I am also a trauma counselor.” Stiles nodded, his eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment before widening. “More importantly for this conversation, I am  _ Derek’s _ trauma counselor.”

“Isn’t it a violation of Hippo to tell me that?” Stiles asked.

Ms. Martin laughed, sitting back as the waitress brought them their drinks. She took a sip of her water to give the waitress a chance to get over to another table. “You mean HIPAA, the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act. Normally, yes, I would be in violation, but Derek listed you as someone who had access to all of his records through my office.”

Stiles had just taken a sip of his chocolate milkshake and spit it out over the table. “Me? Why?”

She folded her hands on the table. “He trusts you, which is something I didn’t think I’d ever witness. After the fire, once he woke up from the coma, he tried to go back to living a normal life, but it didn’t last long.” 

“Erica said no one has seen him in about ten years,” Stiles provided. “I guess I thought he’d been in the hospital for the few years between the coma and then.”

She shook her head. “No. The first thing he did was move into the duplex and there was a woman living in the other half. Her name was Jennifer. She befriended him and Derek thought that things were going well.”

“I have a feeling they weren’t?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the waitress appeared then with their meals, so they waited until she walked away. Stiles’ appetite had been replaced by curiosity, so he poked at his curly fries, waiting for Ms. Martin to speak again.

“Jennifer’s name was actually Julia and she managed to steal a large amount of Derek’s inheritance,” she said after finishing a bite of her salad.

“He had to have been only seventeen! Why wasn’t he living with an adult?” Stiles questioned, remembered learning Derek had been only sixteen when the fire had happened but this was the first time he’d wondered why Derek hadn’t been sent to live with someone else.

“After the loss, they felt it was best for him to become emancipated rather than go into the foster system for a year,” she explained. “At the time, I felt he was ready for that, he seemed to be dealing with the trauma better than expected.”

“You were wrong.”

She shook her head and Stiles expected anger, but she stayed as calm as she’d been through the entire conversation. “He was ready at the time, but the added stress of what Julia did seemed to snap something in him. He withdrew almost completely, stopped talking and rarely left the house, unless absolutely necessary and then only at night.”

“So, he  _ can _ talk, but chooses not to?” Stiles said, remembering vaguely Derek cursing when he lit Stiles’ stove. “Why does he still have gas appliances in the duplex if he’s afraid of fire?”

She laughed again. “Derek told me you had a strange mind. His half of the duplex is electric, but he’d originally had no plans to rent out the other half after Julia was arrested.”

“What changed?” 

“He heard the library hired a new librarian that would need a place to live,” Ms. Martin said and Stiles choked on the fries he’d just shoved into his mouth.

“Wait. He knew who I was?” Stiles asked, coughing and thanking the waitress for the glass of water she brought to the table before patting him on the back.

“No,” she assured him. “About a year ago, he’d expressed an interest in reaching out, but wasn’t sure how. I suggested leasing out the duplex. The next day, Lydia told me about the library hiring you and I passed your information onto Derek.”

“How do you do therapy if he doesn’t talk?” Stiles asked, not ready to process the information that she’d just given him.

“Our sessions are mostly through Skype. I only see him face to face once every three months when he travels to the next town to get in his visits with a physician and a dentist when necessary,” she explained. “Even face to face, he writes notes and only occasionally will speak.”

He nodded. “That’s where he was last weekend.”

“Yes, it’s when he told me he wanted me to talk to you,” she told him, pushing away her empty salad plate. “Do you have any questions?”

Stiles pondered the question as he finished eating. He was grateful that Ms. Martin didn’t pressure him and just waved over the waitress and asked for the bill. He tried to reach for it, but she slapped his hand and yanked it out of his reach. “If I knock on Derek’s door tonight, will he let me in?”

“That’s a question for him,” she responded as she placed a credit card on the bill tray. 

He knew she was right and he seriously considered knocking when he got home but wasn’t sure if he was ready for how he would feel if Derek didn’t answer the door. Or even how he’d feel if he did. “I can’t think of any more questions.”

She slid a card across the table to him. “My cell phone number is on the back. If you come up with any questions about anything at all, give me a call.”

Stiles played with the card before sliding it into his pocket. “Thank you, Ms. Martin.”

“Call me Natalie, please, Stiles,” she told him as Stiles phone buzzed on the table. They both looked down at it. “Derek must be worried. You should head home.”

_ Are you home? _

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his phone, trying to figure out why Derek was asking. He normally always knew when he was there; he’d honestly suspected there were cameras at one point.

He started to respond when his phone began to ring. Derek was  _ calling  _ him. He looked up at Natalie who gestured for him to answer. He connected the call, but before he could say anything he heard Kate’s voice. 

“You stupid boy,” she hissed. “So concerned about your little boyfriend you actually left the house!”

There was a thud and then a whimper. Stiles quickly muted the phone so he could still hear them but they couldn’t hear him. He was racing out the door to his Jeep as he heard clicks that sounded like his stove. 

“Why did you have to wake up?” Kate asked as Stiles jumped into his Jeep and tore out of the parking lot, tires squealing. “If you’d just slept like the rest of your stupid family-“

Stiles lost the rest of her sentence under the sound of sirens behind him. Looking in his rear view mirror, he recognized Parrish behind the wheel. He grabbed his CB. 

_ “Beacon Hills Dispatch. What’s your emergency?” _

“This is Stiles Stilinski. Deputy Parrish is in pursuit of my vehicle, but I cannot stop. Kate Argent is in my home threatening-“ he explained quickly, breaking off in a choked sob when he heard an eerie woosh and a strangled cry from the phone. “I think she just set the duplex on fire with Derek inside!”

As he finished speaking, Parrish passed him in the squad car, motioning for him to follow. At the same time, the siren for the volunteer fire department screamed through the air. Stiles was focused on Parrish’s taillights but detected a lot of commotion on the sides of the street. They skidded to a halt in front of the duplex and Stiles froze for a split second at the flames pouring out of his side of the duplex.

A cry of his name from the phone got him moving. He hopped out of the jeep and raced towards the duplex, jerking to a stop when Boyd grabbed him around the waist. “Dude! Let me go!” Stiles screamed, fighting against him. “Derek’s in there! I think he’s hurt!” Boyd’s arms loosened and Stiles ran, darting around Parrish who tried to stop him.

He tripped over a woman he recognized from the library and when he hit the ground and rolled over onto his back, he discovered a line of people passing buckets of water from a neighbor’s pool and then the empty buckets back again. Scrambling backwards he got to his feet again and ran around to Derek’s side of the duplex.

He saw the backdoor standing open and about fifteen feet into the backyard, he spotted Isaac and Erica holding a struggling Kate who was cursing and spitting as they wrestled her to the ground and both of them sat on her. They waved and yelled for Stiles to stop as he ran through the backdoor. Derek’s side wasn’t as full of fire as his, the flames just starting up the walls in the kitchen, but the rooms were filled with smoke.

He heard coughing from the front room and hurried towards it as he heard sirens outside and flashing lights started flashing off the wall. Derek was by the piano, yanking on it, coughing and crying as he struggled. Stiles rushed to the other side of the piano and started pulling on it, grateful when it slid a bit. Derek looked up in shock, but Stiles just smiled at him quickly and kept pulling. 

They worked together to pull the piano closer to the front door, working steadily as flames began eating the wall where the piano had just stood. They were just about to open the door when an axe went through it, scaring them both into startled screams. “Stop! Stop!” Stiles shouted, reaching out and unlocking the door before pulling it open, startling the fireman on the other side.

“Help us get this outside!” Stiles said, pointing to the piano and the fireman called for another and the four of them lifted the piano and carried it out the door and across the street to an empty driveway. A moment later, another fireman came running out of the house with the bench and set it next to it, allowing Derek to collapse on top of it. Stiles stared down at him as the paramedics came over to check them both out.

The flames were soon put out, but the duplex was half the size it used to be. Derek and Stiles sat side by side on the piano bench breathing through oxygen masks and wrapped in shock blankets. At first, Derek had sat stiffly next to him, but eventually, Stiles had snaked a hand out from beneath his blanket and reached for Derek’s, squeezing gently. A moment after that, Derek relaxed into Stiles’ side.

After the immediate danger was over, Stiles began to observe the street, surprised by the sheer number of people that were milling around. Stiles pulled his mask away from his face and looked down at Erica who had sat down, leaning against his leg. “Is the whole damn town here?”

“Just about,” she replied. “Parrish took Kate to jail and I think there are a few others, but just about. When you ran out of the diner, Ms. Martin started making calls and telling people Derek was in trouble.”

Derek made a noise of surprise, squeezing Stiles’ hand sharply. “Dude, I told you that this town loves you,” Stiles said. Derek shook his head and shucked the blanket, his body fidgeting and Stiles knew he was trying to run. “Oh no, you’re staying right here.”

Derek’s fingers started flexing and his eyes were darting around at everyone, his breaths coming faster. Stiles waved at a paramedic who came over to check Derek’s vitals while Stiles and Erica tried to calm Derek down. Nothing was getting through to him when an idea occurred to Stiles.

Turning on the bench, he opened the piano and ran his hands over the keys. “Stiles, is this really the time?” Erica snapped. 

Stiles ignored her and using two fingers and the limited memory of the piano lessons his mom had given him as a child, he started to play. He groaned when the exercise he had considered boring and senseless as a child was so difficult now and he kept missing notes. After his fifth mess up and start over, a scarred hand came to rest over his. Stiles looked up at Derek who was breathing back to normal and his oxygen mask removed. His green eyes shimmered with tears. 

“There you are,” Stiles told him, smiling until Derek gave a tentative one in return, lopsided due to the scarring, but absolutely beautiful when it grew until Stiles spotted bunny teeth poking out. “You are still hot.”

“Liar,” Derek rasped out.

“Never,” Stiles told him, bumping their shoulders together. “Now, are you going to play something or should I go back to butchering Chopsticks?”

Derek shook his head and then tilted it to the side as he stared at the piano, brushing his fingers over the keys as he looked around at the crowd that was now distributing food and drinks supplied by the diner. The disaster had turned into a block party and Stiles wanted to laugh, but he was too busy blinking back tears. He turned to Derek when he started a few tentative notes, eyes closed as if he was trying to pull a memory. 

After a few moments, his movements became more confident and it didn’t take Stiles very long to identify the song. He glanced at Erica who giggled and started singing along. “I want to be where the people are. I want to see, want to see ‘em dancin’.”

Stiles joined in, his voice a bit off key, but the smile Derek gave him made it worth it. “Want to see ‘em dancin’.”

It didn’t take long for a majority of the crowd to gather around the piano and join in on the song, their voices ringing out as they all ended with, “Wish I could be part of that world!” The entire crowd clapped and cheered as the notes trailed off. 

Derek buried his face in his hands, the tips of his ears burning red. Stiles leaned in close, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder so that he could whisper in his ear. “You’re totally part of this world.”

_ Two Months Later _

Stiles pulled the Jeep into the driveway next to the house, sitting behind the wheel for a minute to take in the details. After the duplex had been declared unlivable and Lydia had announced she was leaving Beacon Hills to work as a literary archivist in London leaving Stiles in the position of head librarian, he’d purchased a small two bedroom bungalow a few blocks from the library. After staying in a hotel for two months, he was thrilled at the idea of spending his first night in his new home.

He looked to the right as a Silver FJ Cruiser pulled in next to him. Stiles shook his head fondly as he scrambled out of the Jeep. By the time he’d gotten around to the back to unload the groceries, Derek was standing next to him, eyes hidden by aviator glasses. “Hi,” Derek whispered. 

Since the night of the fire, Derek had been coming out of his shell more. There were still days where he would stay locked away, playing the piano and not talking to anyone, but those days had started to become fewer and farther between as they’d stayed in the hotel. The day Stiles had signed on the house, he’d gone back to the hotel to find Derek standing outside his room.

“Do you want to come to therapy with me?” Derek had rasped out, the longest sentence he’d heard from him to that point so Stiles had nodded and they’d left together.

The therapy session had been difficult. Derek had described his guilt over Stiles losing everything because of him. Stiles had reached over to take his hand before using his other hand to tilt Derek’s chin up so that he’d been looking him in the eye. “The only things that really matter are still here.” Derek looked doubtful. “Physical things are not that important. My book was saved on Google docs. The wall where I had it mapped out, I’d thankfully just taken a picture of to send my dad, so it’s all there as well, but even if it weren’t, I’d survive. The most important things though are my life and yours.” 

Derek’s eyes had widened and Stiles wanted to laugh, but he knew that would just make things worse. Instead, his brain to mouth filter went offline and he’d asked, “Do you have a place to live?”

“The hotel,” Derek had answered.

“That’s not a permanent place,” Stiles had argued, placing a hand over Derek’s mouth when he opened it to argue. “I just bought a two-bedroom house. Take the second room.” 

Derek had said no, but when Natalie had asked him why he didn’t have an answer. Stiles had convinced him to think about it and over the next month, while Stiles had decorated the house, Derek had thought about it. The hotel had allowed Derek to move the piano into his room and instead of listening through the wall, Stiles would cross through the door between the rooms and sit on the end of Derek’s bed.

Their friendship, which had been good despite never being face to face, grew stronger the more time they spent together. So, the day before Stiles was to move out of the hotel, he was only slightly surprised when Derek had stopped by his room and asked if the offer to move in still stood. Stiles had just shoved him and called him a dork before passing over a key on a Mickey Mouse keychain.

Derek used that key to unlock the door for Stiles as he carried the majority of the bags inside. “How did things go at the lawyer’s office?” Stiles asked as he went into the kitchen, allowing Derek to explore the house. He’d been there a few times, but not since Boyd and Isaac had brought over his belongings while he’d been busy that day.

Derek came into the kitchen and sat on one of the stools at the island. “Fine. He’s convinced they can pin Kate to both fires.”

That had been a revelation when Stiles remembered Kate’s words on the phone and Derek had relayed what she had said to him before setting the fire in Stiles’ kitchen. She’d all but admitted to setting the fire that had killed Derek’s family but then refused to confess once she’d been arrested. She’d even had an alibi for the time of the original fire, but after some extensive research, Stiles was able to determine that the alibi didn’t hold up. 

“That’s great news,” Stiles told him, putting away some vegetables as he saw Derek looking towards the living room. “Something wrong?”

Derek shook his head before nodding and then shaking it again. “The piano is in the living room.”

Derek had told Isaac and Boyd to put the piano in his bedroom, but when they’d been moving it, Stiles told them to leave it in the living room. He’d hoped Derek wouldn't be upset, but it seemed that he had made the wrong decision. “That was my idea. I thought it would be easier for me to listen, but if you want it in-”

“No,” Derek interrupted, smiling. “No, that’s fine.”

Stiles turned around to put away some cereal and when he was done, Derek was gone. He counted to five under his breath, smiling when on five, music began in the living room. Pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge, Stiles went into the living room and sat on the overstuffed chair set up to the left of the piano.

He sipped at the water as he listened, eyes closed to Derek playing. He hummed along with some of the songs, smiling when Derek did before setting his glass down on a coaster on the end table and leaning back to close his eyes. The music was low and slow and lulled Stiles to sleep.

His eyes blinked open, the room was dark and the piano silent. Checking his watch, Stiles saw it was just past ten, so he assumed Derek had gone to bed. He pushed himself to stand, stumbling backwards when Derek moved on the piano bench, reaching out to grab his hand. “Shit,” Stiles mumbled, allowing Derek to pull him to sit down next to him, his back to the piano.

“I suck at words,” Derek started, “but you always knew what I meant.”

Stiles smiled, leaning his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Disney is good at feelings.” He felt Derek stiffen next to him. “Hey, what’s the matter?” He sat up, turning so he was straddling the bench and facing Derek. He lifted a hand to cup his cheek, running a thumb over the scarred skin. “You know you can tell me anything...or rather play me anything.”

This close, despite the dark, Stiles could see Derek close his eyes, his lashes brushing across Stiles’ thumb. He felt Derek’s shoulders rise and fall before his arms moved, his fingers pressing the keys. Stiles knew the song from the very first notes, but couldn’t believe that Derek was playing it for him.

Stiles moved his hand from Derek’s cheek to his knee, allowing him to turn towards the piano and focus on playing. As the music ebbed and flowed, Stiles’ heart filled and he had to blink back tears. When the song was done, Derek’s hands dropped to his lap, one tangling with Stiles’ on his knee. 

“Do you mean it?” Stiles asked, his voice hushed and broken, gasping out a sob when Derek nodded and looked up at him, eyes bright.

Stiles studied his face, truly memorizing it for the first time, tracking every twitch the longer the silence went on. As little as Derek talked, Stiles had realized he didn’t much like silence which might be why he liked Stiles so much. He blinked his eyes, thinking back on the song; Derek didn’t just like him, he loved him. Leaning in slowly, allowing Derek to back away, Stiles brushed their lips together briefly before leaning back.

They stared at each other for a moment before Derek leaned in to kiss Stiles a bit harder and a bit longer before pulling back, both of them grinning like idiots at each other. “Yeah, I definitely feel the love tonight,” Stiles said, laughing when Derek rolled his eyes and shoved him off the piano bench.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say, "Hi!" I'm [josjournal](http://josjournal.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Kudo and comment if you enjoyed it. :D


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